


(The Best Presents Don't Have to Be) Wrapped

by Newtdew25



Series: Another Side, Another Story [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Multi, Pregnancy, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: As Spot and Race bask in the afterglow of the annual Christmas party, Race reveals that there's something he needs to tell his boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not connected with Peppermint Winter in any way, since that featured a cis man Race, and this fic now features a trans man Race. However, I still wanted to write some more Sprace, albeit with a twist. So here you go!
> 
> I'm a cis guy, so if something I've written comes across as transphobic or plain inaccurate, please let me know so I can correct it.

The party had wound down, and the apartment was mostly empty except for Jack, David, and Crutchie, the three of whom were tangled up in some kind of pile on the couch. As far as Spot was aware, Jack was the only one that actually drank any alcohol, but both his boyfriends were too tired to drive. At least that’s what they claimed. As long as no one threw up on it, Spot permitted them to use it as an impromptu bed for the night.

            “Y’know, I never figured Davey to be one for puppy piles,” a voice whispered from behind him. Spot lifted his arms habitually, allowing Race’s lanky arms to wrap around his waist. “What do you think Jack did to him? Maybe that ain’t David at all, just a lookalike or something.” With a quiet laugh, Spot turned around, looking up at Race (who was an unfair half a foot taller) with the kind of reverence he saved for his foster parents, animals at the shelter he worked at, and on occasion, his boyfriend. “Beats me. Maybe I spiked the eggnog and you’re drunk off your ass right now, talking to some bum on the street.”

            Race shook his head as he started picking up plastic cups off of the ground. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m talking to a bum right-” Before the sentence was done, Spot already had him in a headlock, aggressively tousling the neatly gelled black hair that Race so dearly loved. “Wait, wait, you pint-sized fucker! Stop!” His words had no bite, and he used his size to his advantage and simply dropped to the ground, taking Spot with him.

Their relationship was a largely tactile one, a love expressed through physical contact and snarky remarks. It was an interesting case of symbiosis as both were touch-starved, yet refused to let others get close to them. Such similarities should have pushed them apart, but sharing a one bedroom apartment left little room for protest. Spot still wasn’t sure how or why a fellow New Haven alum got his address and showed up at his door, but when he saw the dark purple bruises across his face, Spot took him in without a word.

_It takes one to know one, right?_

Untangling himself from his boyfriend, Spot looked Race over, pushing a now loose tuft of hair out of his face. The little scars and freckles that ran across his features were like the markings of a well-worn map. Or perhaps they were the annotations written in the margins of a book that had been passed down for generations, some owners less loving then others. Race was barely past 23, yet had lived more lives than any actor or storyteller could. “You’re kinda cute,” Spot mumbled, letting his hand drop into his lap. “I mean, when you’re not an ass.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Race shot back, turning around and lying down in his boyfriend’s lap. His boyfriend bent down, kissing the top of his nose in reply. “Tony, I’ve been meaning to ask you something…”

“If this is about your ham again, I swear to God… It was just fine, Sean!”

Spot shook his head, running his hands through Race’s hair. “No, it’s not that. But maybe I should’ve used less salt… Anyways, my question was about tonight. Sarah and Kath brought a few bottles of peach schnapps, but you didn’t drink any. Isn’t that your favorite drink?”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled, looking straight ahead. “Why, isn’t a guy allowed to stay sober every once in a while?” Spot simply shrugged, unsure of how to answer. “Just so you know, I hid a bottle of it in the fridge so you wouldn’t miss out on it.” With a sigh, Race pulled himself away from his boyfriend and knelt down in front of him, hands on his lap. It was a rare occasion for him to be quiet; he was noisy even in sleep (though that never bothered Spot, since he had the same problem).

“Seanie,” Race began, using his other nickname. “Did you drink anything at all?”

“Well, I had a cup of coke and rum, but that was really early on in the night,” Spot explained. “I’m pretty sober now.” Race put a finger to his lips, silently pointing at the trio of boys snoring on their couch. Standing as quietly as he could, he then gestured to their bedroom. Spot’s eyes and grin grew wide until he looked at Race’s expression.

_Damn, he’s not thinking what I was thinking._

Regardless, he quietly followed his boyfriend into the room and closed the door behind them. Race was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with something in his hoodie pocket. As Spot sat beside him, he leaned into his chest again, sighing. “Wanna tell me what’s on your mind, babe?” he asked, using a pet name that Race refused to acknowledge until just a few weeks ago. The man looked him in the eyes, silently pleading for understanding. “Do you remember the last time we had sex, Spot?”

“That’s a tough question, Race,” Spot laughed. “I mean, do morning blowjobs count as sex? Or do we need foreplay as well-” His boyfriend glared at him, his hands balling into fists. “I’m being serious, bro. I meant penetrative sex, y’know, down there.”

Starting to understand the seriousness of the conversation, Spot nodded. Race had struggled with his body for much of his life, especially the fact that he still had a vagina. He had opted for top surgery when he was 20, but even that didn’t sit right with him. The scars that had been left behind were ugly to him, like trenches left from some archaic war. Spot had always thought of them as beautiful.

“If that’s what you meant, then I’d have to say about two weeks ago,” he answered, really racking his brain for an answer. It wasn’t like they scheduled their sex lives. Spot, however, internally laughed at the idea of “Kitchen @ 3 P.M (Daddy kink)” being written on the calendar on their fridge. He almost missed Race kneeling down, reaching for a box underneath their bed.

Race was holding a plain brown box in his hands, the kind that one could find at an arts and crafts store. His hands were shaking as he silently opened it up, pulling out a small, tube-like object. Spot got on the floor and leaned in to get a better look.

“What is that? I… oh, wait…”

“Spot, I’m…”

“We’re gonna be dads?”

Race looked up at him, tears of joy welling in his eyes. Spot had to grab the pregnancy test strip before it fell as his boyfriend hugged him tightly. He actually had to hold it closer to his eyes to see the two pink lines for himself. Two lines meant that his boyfriend was pregnant. Two lines meant that they were going to have a kid.

Two lines meant that they were going to have their own family.

He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to Race’s lips. Now that their living dynamics were going to change in a couple of months, Spot had to be gentler with the man he loved. He left a trail of kisses down Race’s neck, then lifted his shirt so he could kiss the tummy that was holding their future child.

“Heya, kiddo,” he whispered against Race’s skin. “It’s your da, and I want to tell you how much your papa and I love you already.” After kissing it again, Spot got up and sat on the bed, moving aside so Race could sit beside him. “Where are we going to put a crib? And the toys? Oh fuck, we’re gonna need baby food too…” Race began to ramble as he sat down on the covers. Before Spot could say anything, their bedroom door opened, revealing Jack, Crutchie, and David leaning up with their ears against the door.

“Okay, I know this looks bad, but we didn’t mean–”

“Davey, it was your idea, don’t deny it! Tell him, Crutchie!”

“What I think my idiot boyfriends are trying to say is that we were wondering if you needed some godparents too.”

Spot looked over at Race, unsure of what he wanted. After a moment of consideration, Race stood up, smiling. “I suppose our kid’s gonna have a hell lot of godparents, huh?”

“Hey, I’m not one to complain, Race. They’ll be another member of our family, right?”

Family. The word felt right, like a puzzle piece, lost under the couch for so long, finally filling the empty hole in the picture. “Promise me one thing, guys,” Spot added, moving behind Race to hug his tummy. “Try not to overwhelm the kid just yet. We’ve got a lot of love to give, and you’ll make the poor guy’s head spin if you don’t control yourselves.”

“We’ll tell the others in the morning,” Race said through a yawn. “Or later, I don’t know. It’s past midnight, ain’t it?” Spot nodded as he escorted him to bed. Sure, they had a party to clean up, but that could wait. All Spot wanted was to sleep beside the two people he loved most in the world; Anthony Higgins and their future child.


End file.
